[Third Person].
Draven watched Meredith finish the last spoonful of porridge like it was a chore she had been sentenced to.
Then, she pushed the bowl toward him with a dramatic sigh. "There. I did it. Are you satisfied now, Healer?"
Draven took the bowl, set it aside calmly, then reached for the tray again. Without a word, he lifted the lid he had earlier closed with such finality.
The aroma hit Meredith instantly once again.
Draven didn’t look at her. He picked up a small portion of the meat, tore it carefully with his fingers, and brought it toward her mouth.
"Open," he said.
She blinked. "I can feed myself."
"I know," he replied evenly. "But not now."
Her lips parted anyway. The first bite made her groan softly before she could stop herself.
Draven arched a brow. "Dramatic."
"You denied me this on purpose," she accused, chewing. "That’s psychological warfare."
"No," he said, already preparing the next bite. "That was medical discipline."
Draven fed her slowly, deliberately—meat first, then grains, then roots—watching her reactions like he was measuring more than appetite.
But every time she reached for the plate, he pulled it just out of reach.
She glared at him. "You’re enjoying this."
"I won’t deny it," he said quietly.
That shut her up. She ate what he offered, when he offered it, rolling her eyes only once when he insisted she chew properly.
A few moments later, he asked with his eyes peering into hers, "How do you really feel?"
Instantly, Meredith understood the question and what exactly he was asking about.
She hesitated for a moment because saying her feelings would make it real. Then, she swallowed a gulp.
"I feel... tired. Embarrassed. And stupid right now."
Draven paused. "I know why you feel those. But I want you to know something: I can deal with betrayal. I can deal with secrets."
Then, he took in a sharp breath and continued honestly, "But watching you lie there, not breathing properly—" His jaw tightened. "That’s not something I can train myself to endure. So, don’t feel those."
She looked down, guilt blooming fresh in her chest. "I’m truly sorry for everything."
"I know." His voice softened instantly. "That’s why I’m here. Not angry. Just... shaken."
Her eyes burned. But before she could say anything else, the door creaked open.
Dennis’s head poked in, messy-haired and squinting like the light personally offended him.
"Well," he drawled, scanning the room. "Good news—you’re alive. Bad news—my head is still banging."
Meredith let out a small laugh despite herself.
But then, Dennis froze mid-step. His eyes dropped to the tray. Then to Draven’s hand. Then to Meredith’s mouth.
"Oh."
A slow grin spread across his face. "So this is what nearly drowning gets you. Personal feeding services."
Draven finally looked at him, giving him a flat warning look.
Dennis raised both hands. "Relax. I’m just impressed. I didn’t even get water brought to me when I was dying last night."
"You were hungover," Draven said. "That was self-inflicted."
Dennis walked in anyway, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. His eyes flicked over Meredith carefully now—checking her colour, her posture, the fact that she was upright and eating.
"...You scared us," he said, quieter.
Meredith smiled weakly. "I scared myself."
Dennis nodded once, then immediately ruined the moment.
"Still," he added, pointing vaguely toward the river’s direction, "thank the moons my brother forced you into swimming lessons months ago. Otherwise, today, we would be having a very awkward fun—"
Draven closed his eyes. "Dennis," he said slowly, "if you finish that sentence—"
"I’m kidding!" Dennis laughed. "Mostly. Look, she is alive, breathing, and being fed like royalty. That’s a win."
Meredith snorted. Draven glanced at her, caught the sound, and shook his head. "You’re encouraging him."
He nodded. "I will do that later."
Then he straightened and looked at her with that familiar, unreadable calm. "For now, we are going for a walk."
Her brows shot up. "No, we are not. I’m tired."
"You’ve been sleeping all day," he countered evenly. "And you just ate enough food to feed a small pack."
"That’s medical recovery," she argued.
"That’s an excuse."
Before she could protest again, he reached out toward her.
Meredith squeaked and immediately rolled to the other side of the bed, narrowly escaping his grasp.
"Oh no you don’t," Draven said, already moving.
She laughed despite herself, scrambling across the mattress. "You’re cruel. Absolutely cruel."
He lunged forward, but she grabbed his arm instead, harder than she intended, and yanked.
Draven lost his balance. And for a split second, there was only surprise. Then he fell forward, landing squarely on top of her.
The bed dipped beneath their combined weight. Meredith let out a breathless laugh, her hands instinctively bracing against his chest.
Draven froze, hovering just enough not to crush her, his arms planted on either side of her head.
Their faces were suddenly very close. Too close. Then, her laughter faded into something quieter.
Draven looked down at her, his expression unreadable, then something warm flickered there. "You cheated."
She smiled up at him with uneven breath. "You started it."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The tension between them wasn’t sharp this time; it was soft, threaded with exhaustion, relief, and something fragile they were both afraid to name.
Finally, Draven exhaled and shifted his weight slightly so he wasn’t pressing her into the mattress.
"Five minutes," he said. "Then we walk."
Meredith groaned dramatically. "You’re impossible."
"And you’re not getting out of it," he replied. But he didn’t get up right away.

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